


Comfort Zone

by dvske



Series: Count the Ways [6]
Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Swing Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7119283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvske/pseuds/dvske
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When in Rome, they say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Zone

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ['The Way You Said 'I Love You'](http://rhvme.tumblr.com/post/137729229293/) prompts via a lovely soul on tumblr. Prompt# 27, a taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips.

It’s baffling to him, seeing this much energy in one room. Patrons dressed in their vintage best; colorful suits, blouses and gowns galore. The wait staff, toting catered food and bubbling drinks amidst the hum and drum. Beaming lights and the air abuzz with heat, motion, chatter and blaring music. Everywhere, people spring to life to the sound of trumpet horns and bass, to the rhythmic lilt of sax and strings. The band is ceaseless, and no one seems to care. The Swing Spring Fling, 40’s aesthetic from top to bottom, is as much of a success as Sybil's promised.

The hostess in question occupies the dance floor with maddening flair. She and Asher seem a match made to be, in visual and vigor, crisp black and red. Asher in his suspender suit, towering over his partner, yet yielding expertly to her lead. Sybil in a bell-shaped dress that sweeps the air as she and Asher move in tandem. Her skirt fans out with each twist and twirl, swishing at a pace Royce can’t help but find mesmerizing.

Awful lot of flailing about, this dancing business.

He observes them from the bar, drink in hand, wondering just _how_ they manage to move their legs like that. How, when Asher's all lank and limb? How, when she's in those heels? Practice, perhaps, or simply their carefree attitudes when it came to the masses. They’ve never been ones to shrink from the public eye, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Yet how can he not? There's a certain charm to their abandon, something infectious. They're positively glowing, more alive than he’s ever witnessed or imagined possible.

“You look like you want to join in.”

He glances over at Grant’s sudden comment, his laugh. The administrator eases beside him, leans against the bar. He’s traded his usual solid tones for pinstripes, looking just as vibrant as the surrounding flock. Far more done up than Royce expects, though not out of place.

Royce rolls his eyes, smiling despite himself. “Hilarious.”

“You should. Might enjoy yourself.”

“I’m fine right here, thank you. And, I don’t see you out there.” Nodding towards the dance floor, now. “Busting a move, as they say.”

“I don’t dance.”

“He says, ironically.”

“And your excuse?”

“Can’t.”

It’s not nerves, per se. Not the beat of bodies and noise that entertain at best, fuel beginnings of a headache at worst. It’s not even the fact that this isn’t Royce’s typical scene.

It’s where to start, the how. How to keep up with all this sensation? How to move and lose himself to point where little else mattered? The others make it seem so simple.

“Can’t,” Grant chimes, “or won’t?”

“Didn’t know any better, old man, I’d take that as a challenge.”

“ _Oh_ , now?”

Big talk, Royce knows, but all in good fun.

Then the tempo shifts, slightly slower but still upbeat. A meeting of the old and new, electronic notes mixing with the band’s performance as a singer takes to the stage. There’s a rasp to her voice, her vowels running one into the other as she calls to the crowd, “Ya’ll cats ready to get a ‘lil _funky_ in here?”

Grant’s expression grows playful, his grin broadening when Royce regards him with an arched brow. “Well, Royce?”

“Well, what? Get funky?”

He laughs. “Yes.”

“Only if you join me.”

The challenge is there, resting for a heartbeat before Grant claps a hand to Royce’s back. Bluff or not, he’s amused enough to bite. “Alright.”

“…Seriously?”

“Since you so kindly insisted.”

“Well. Then.” And with Grant tugging at his arm, he downs the last of his drink. There’s not nearly enough alcohol in his system for the level of embarrassment he’s about to endure, but...

Well. To hell with it.


End file.
